


Blood

by Morpheus626



Series: Lee's Rock/Queentober 2020 [28]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: Assigned band member for this day: BrianSynopsis: Set late 1970/pre-March 1971 (aka the dark and sad times, pre-Deacon lol.) A snapshot fic into an early practice, with Freddie and Brian still parsing out how to move around a performance space together. Or not, as it should happen in this fic. They’ll get there, eventually.TW: ...blood. Not like in a horribly overtly gory way, but there is some of it in this fic. Not the level of a Saw movie, but also some blood and minor injuries are talked about. Also a TW for emetophobia, though the mention of someone being sick is incredibly brief.
Series: Lee's Rock/Queentober 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950265
Kudos: 16





	Blood

“Be honest...how bad is it?” 

He and Freddie are hopelessly tangled, by the upper portion of the mic stand, the mic cord, the Red Special, and the cord leading to Brian’s amp. It’s not the first time they’ve clashed (considering they’re still working on their individual stage presences in practices together, still learning how they want to move on stage together, and how that weaves into everyone else’s space on stage.) 

It is however, apparently, the worst, judging by Roger’s horrified face. 

“Scaring us a bit, Rog,” Freddie giggles. “Brian, do you feel a bit light-headed?” 

“Well,” Brian looks down at his feet, and notices a few droplets of something dripping near them. “Starting to feel a bit of pain, actually. You?” 

Freddie nods carefully, so as not to smash his head against Brian’s. 

“Neither of you move,” Roger says slowly. “I can...um...god, head wounds do bleed a lot, don’t they?” 

“Head wounds?!” He and Freddie are one, panicked voice. 

“Not bad ones!” Roger replies, voice pitched high, as if he was trying to calm an excited puppy. “No, just...it’s fine. That’s the big thing to remember, okay?” 

Roger rotates around them, moving cords, taking the mic stand from Freddie’s hands and setting it aside, then the Red Special from Brian, only to frown. 

“Erm. How did you two pull this off?” 

“What did we do exactly?” Brian asks. “And the head wounds?” 

“Oh, I think you both bashed each other good,” Roger replies. "Freddie got you with the mic, you got him with the Old Lady. You’re still bleeding, but it’s going to be fine.” 

“We’re untangled now, so we could address the wounds, yes?” Freddie scoffs, and takes a step forward.

Suddenly, Freddie is on the floor, with Brian following, and the sensation of the cords still tangled around their ankles is much tighter. 

“No,” Roger winces. “But now, I can get those tangled cords away from your legs by pulling them over your feet, so don’t move.” 

“There is blood in my mouth,” Freddie murmurs weakly. “And I don’t know if it’s mine or yours, Brian. I might be sick.” 

“Fair enough,” Brian nods, and focuses on the thought of being upright and free, instead of being sick and light-headed over whatever damage Freddie accidentally did to him (and he’s afraid to see what he accidentally did to Freddie as well.) 

“We could maybe take a break,” Roger says. “I’ll fix you both up, mop up the blood, take a quick moment to vomit, and then we’ll relax for a bit!” 

“Or we could be done,” Freddie suggests, muffled under Brian. “I’m not a quitter by any means, but this feels like a sign.” 

Brian nods as Roger frees them, and rolls away from Freddie. He pats at the blood sticky in his curls. “I vote for being done.” 

Roger sighs and stands, only to step into a bit of blood. His face goes green, and they watch as he dashes into the nearby bathroom, retching. 

“Sorry,” Freddie murmurs, the color drained from his face. “Should we maybe call someone?” 

“We can’t afford to call someone,” Brian scoffs. “But I think, between all three of us, we can manage stitches, if we need them.” 

Roger whimpers from the bathroom. 

“Between the two of us,” Freddie amends. 

“I’m going to lay down, for now,” Brian mutters as he gently flops onto the floor. He can’t imagine he looks much better than Freddie right now, though he’s sure the injuries aren’t horribly bad. 

But even so, Freddie is already struggling to get up, and if he’s ready to take on the challenge of finding the first aid kit, then Brian will let him face that head on. He trusts him. 

He will, however, be putting extra care into figuring out an on stage routine with Freddie from here on out. For the sake of their bodies, and Roger’s stomach.


End file.
